


Everlsting

by TheBiPenguin



Series: Everlasting Sterek [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV), UnREAL (TV)
Genre: M/M, Reality TV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 14:16:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9611087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBiPenguin/pseuds/TheBiPenguin
Summary: Stiles Stilinski is the best at what he does. He’s worked his ass off to become the best producer in TV because he wants to make TV that matters and challenge societal norms. How he ever let the infamous Lydia Martin draw him into the her little kingdom in reality TV he will never know, but so far they’ve made a fantastic team, going into their thirteenth season with ratings no other show can match.Everlasting. Where dreams really do come true. Everyone in TV knows that Lydia Martin is the number one seller of true love to the world. One eligible bachelor meets twelve lucky young ladies. Each week he sends one home until there only remains the handsome prince and his new princess.What a crock of shit.This is the story of the thirteenth and most revolutionary season of Everlasting. Where the Hollywood fairy tale finally gave way to true, actual love…and not between the contestants.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is hideous. Those who are easily offended please do not read.
> 
> The opinions expressed by the ugly plot line used do NOT reflect the views of the author.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome back to our humble home. It’s my pleasure to introduce to you the thirteenth season of Everlasting and to our suitor for this season, Derek Hale.”

Derek squirmed inside his altogether far too close fitting suit and tried to put on something that he hoped looked like a charming smile to hide the fact that he’d really rather be anywhere else at 2am than on a red carpet in front of a Hollywood manor house watching twelve pearly-white, horse-drawn carriages pull up to the entrance of what was to be his prison for the next twelve weeks. Well, in all honesty it was three carriages which kept rotating to pick up the next girl from around the corner and make it look like a continuous caravan of Cinderella inspired entrances.

The first carriage came to a stop, the exquisitely groomed mares whinnying their arrival as the chauffer opened the door and its’ single occupant stepped out onto the carpet. She was tall and slim, no surprises there, with flawless dark skin and braided hair tied up in an extravagantly built nest behind her head. Her brilliant smile was unfaltering as she approached.

“Hi, I’m Marie.”

Derek dutifully took her proffered hand in his and pressed a kiss to it. Her perfume was overwhelming and he doubted that this distaste for the sharp scent would go unnoticed, ever conscious of the three cameras mounted on their tripods, each of their black, unblinking eyes trained on him and their suave host and, of course, on the entourage of Chanel packaged enchantresses he was being presented with, the next of whom was already stepping out of her own carriage.

“Cut. Cut! CUT! Scott, shut up!”

Scott frowned, his famous puppy dog features scrunching up in confusion as he looked around at the dozens of crew members scuttling around the brightly lit up grounds of the Everlasting manor for an explanation.

Before Derek knew it, a make-up brush was being wiped across his face. He sneezed and shoved the make-up girl’s arm away before making a break for it back inside. He barely got two steps over the threshold before the uncomfortably familiar hand of Jackson Whitmore was on his arm, pulling him off towards a circle of black, leather sofas populated with girls who Derek suspected were probably paid models, around a coffee table stacked up with more bottles of champagne and bags of suspicious white power than he wanted to think about.

“Hey Bro. How you getting on? Wanna kick back for a second between shots? Isn’t it great, I promised you, didn’t I? Twelve weeks of hot chicks and booze and you’re getting paid for it. Hey, you’re welcome. You have no idea how much kudos I got with the network for getting a Hale on our show. I mean, you’re doing me the favour, dude. Honestly.”

Jackson’s mile a minute mouth was either due to way too much coke or it was innate to his personality. Both concepts made Derek’s guts sink towards the ground every time he heard it.

“I’m just gonna go to the bathroom.” Was the weak-ass excuse he threw over his shoulder as he made a dash down the nearest corridor towards what he hoped was some peace and quiet.

 

 

Lydia threw the walkie onto her desk and turned away from the wall of flat-screens to quirk a perfectly crafted eyebrow at her producers, who sat at the front row of tables in her sizeable control room, which was populated with more buttons and dials than even she really knew how to use. In the dim, plasma screen provided light, she could just make out her panicked underlings slack jaws gawking up at her.

“Whose girl is she? Isaac, I said that the first girl out needed wife potential.” She jabbed a dangerous looking acrylic fingernail over her shoulder at the screens. “She’s black.”

Isaac stammered, his tongue catching between his teeth. “We just had a black president, Lyds. I thought-”

“I know, honey and I hoped things were changing for the better too. But…” she shrugged, “We’ve got to appeal to as many people as possible and we’re gonna have a lot of Trumped up douchebags tuning in and unfortunately we need them to carry on watching if we wanna keep our ratings up and not get laughed out of a job.”

She lifted the walkie to the red slash of lipstick across her pale skin. “Swap the order and go again. And where’s limo 3, I’m missing two girls in that car? Stiles, where the hell are you? We’ve started and we’ve only got eight hours of usable darkness to film this first-meeting, fairy-tale bullshit so get your ass and your girls here now.”

Her fiery red curls danced in the darkness as her head fell back in melodramatic exasperation. “And what is with our prince charmless? He looks like I’m showing him a stamp collection not an entourage of hot girls he’s gonna get to bone over the next twelve weeks. Hey, someone find my suitor and jerk him off ‘til he gives me a smile that I can actually show our viewers and tell him if he doesn’t start being a bit more compliant I’m gonna pull Boyd off camera crew and make him his personal fluffer.”

“TMI, lady.”

“Stiles’ girls?” Erica narrowed her eyes across the room. “They’re my girls, I sourced them.”

“And they refused to sign their contracts when you asked. If it wasn’t for Stiles, I’d be two girls down thanks to you. The fact that it’s your first season as a producer is the only reason you’re still sat here so don’t push your luck. STILES!”

“I’m here. I’m here. Stop yelling.”

The door to the control room clicked shut as her long-awaited second in command stepped into the electronic heat of the room. In contrast to the terrifying goddess that was Lydia Martin, Stiles wore a goofy smile beneath his scruffily spiked hair, worn out sneakers and a superman T-shirt. He was the Jekyll to her Hyde and everybody knew it. He’d been on Everlasting from the start when Lydia had hand-picked him for her and Jackson’s show. Jackson had the connections and she had the ideas, she just needed another brain in the game with her to act as the eyes in the back of her head. She’d said at the time that it was just to help keep Jackson’s atrocious impulse control from screwing things up but it had quickly become apparent just how skilled a producer Stiles was. There was no official rank separating him from the other producers but they and everybody else on set had learned early on that an order from Stiles was an order from Lydia and was to be obeyed without question. And for his part, he wasn’t completely unhappy about the air of respect Lydia’s fierce reputation had gained him.

“Oh good, thank you for joining us.” The manicured lioness smirked as she gave her old friend one of her rare embraces. “And for getting all dressed up too, aren’t you sweet.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He shoved her away playfully, nodding his greetings to the rest of the room. “I got what you wanted.”

“Good. Then, you can take me through our cast list. What’ve we got?”

“Mary, our MILF. Retired swim-wear model, very sexy but total domestic goddess, you know? Like, bakes cookies for her kid’s school and all sorts of shit.”

“Love it. She’ll do well right up until she tries to pin him down with a brat that isn’t his.”

“Two brats.”

“Even better.” Her laugh was a harsh noise which Stiles had long since gotten used to, but, Erica, the new girl, flinched at the sound. “Who are my Wifeys”

“Anabelle. Total dumbass, easy to manipulate. And, look at her. Tell me what you see.”

“Elsa. She’s perfect.”

“I know right? Blond plat, porcelain skin. She could sell ice to Eskimos with that face, they’ll love her. You’ve also got the other wholesome pretty girls Isaac got us.” Lydia waved him on impatiently. “Okay, well sitting in the car getting acquainted with our princess right now is Lindsey.” Stiles pinned another grinning mugshot to the board under the heading Villain. “Bitch.com/cat-fight, she’s your demon temptress. More tabloid appearances and twitter warfare’s than the rest of the girls combined. I’ve told her to play her A-game tonight, she used to be a Playboy bunny but got kicked out after a fight with one of the other bunnies got bloody.”

“Media whore?” Lydia’s eyes virtually sparkled at the thought.

“Totally. Complete loose cannon but I reckon we can just cut her out of scenes you don’t want her trash stink on and she’ll provide plenty of drama. Plus when our guy dumps a nasty piece of work like that with her level of sex appeal, it’s gonna reinforce the love-over-sex theme, prince charming on steroids.”

“See, this is why I love you. Who’s my horsey?”

“Cara. She’s feminine in an Amazonian sort of way. She’s a waitress so always in trousers and flat shoes and hobbies include boxing and mountain climbing.”

“She sounds terrifying. Perfect.”

Her claws dug into his soft arms as she hugged him once more, pressing her blood red lips to his temple in a quick kiss before turning back to the screens and taking up her walkie again, the axe-woman and her blade.

“Okay people, we now have all our girls, let’s get on with it.”

She and Stiles both swivelled their heads at the plasma wall.

“Where the hell’s the suitor?” Stiles cast his sharp, amber eyes across again, thinking he must have missed him in one of the shots in which he could see Scott milling about on the red carpet like the smooth talking git he was.

“Jackson. Tell me you have not just shoved a line of coke up our guy’s nose, I need him functioning.”

“Not yet.” The unmistakable sound of feminine giggling crackled behind Jackson’s usual, laid-back tone, but, she chose to ignore it. “Don’t get your panties in a knot, we’ve got all night. He went to take a leak.”

“Shit.” Once again the room flinched.

“What?” Stiles rubbed his eyes with his palms and seriously wished that their flight hadn’t been delayed and that he’d been able to get another cup of coffee after they touched down.

“He’s hiding. He’s been skittish all night.” She sighed. “Go make him behave for me?”

“What?” Stiles wondered just how bloodshot his eyes were as they flew back open. “That’s crazy, I’ve never even met him.”

“I got it.” Erica was already zipping her leather jacket closed over her athletic abdomen, throwing her blonde locks over her shoulders.

“No.” Lydia corrected gently. “You don’t. That’s the problem here. Stiles, he’ll love you, everyone does. Just say whatever he wants to hear and get him back in front of that camera.”

Stiles shook his head at the ridiculousness of it all as he turned to brave the cold again. “Fine, but only because I love you.”

“Aw. Love you too babe.” Lydia’s fake cooing voice was arguably the scariest of them all, definitely the least natural. “By the way, I need you to get him to sign his contract too, he’s been throwing a sulk about it and I want him legally tied down ASAP.”

 

 

Stiles spent nearly ten minutes wandering the halls of that goddamn labyrinth before he found Derek’s room. The man he assumed to be Derek from his mugshot was perched on the edge of the luxurious double bed, broad shoulders hunched and his head in his hands. Stiles silently hoped that it wasn’t the same mattress as last season as he perched beside him.

“Hey. Derek, right? Stiles, I’m one of the producers. What’s up?”

“I’m not doing it.” Derek lifted his head just enough to peer out at Stiles through his fingers. He was even more handsome in the flesh, even if he did look as exhausted as Stiles felt.

“Okay. No problem, if that’s what you want.” He bluffed, the cogs of his brain slowly shifting into gear. “We’ll just use the back-up guy. No biggy.” He put one hand tentatively on Derek’s shoulder and gave it what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze.

“You have a back-up guy?”

“Yeah, always do. The network insists.” Lying wasn’t a talent Stiles was proud of, but, he’d made his peace with the fact that, in this business, it was a necessary evil. “So, you know, no pressure. But,” he leaned forward onto his own thighs in an attempt at eye contact. “I would’ve thought this was exactly what you needed, hmm?”

“This is a circus. It’s hideous.” Derek sat up straight, if only to show Stiles an expression of pure perplexion, but, it was a start. “You can’t possibly believe the crap they sell here.”

“Nah, course not.” Stiles shrugged and let his hand fall back to the mattress between them. “But, to millions of people, this is the face of true love, which is a PR wet dream. Now after the headlines you made, I think that nothing is gonna get you back into your family business faster than marrying a fairy tale princess on national TV. What was it again? Four hookers and two drug dealers or the other way around?”

“Hey.” Derek practically growled at him, it would’ve been arousing in any other context. “That’s not fair, that was a tabloid set-up.”

“I believe you, but, no one else will. So, do you wanna do this show and spend twelve weeks getting paid with beautiful girls falling at your feet and then go home to your rosy future, or do you wanna let the back-up guy cash in on that deal and run off back home now to grovel to mummy and daddy and live out your days as the behind the scenes side-son?”

It was a cruelly blunt assessment of what Stiles understood to be Derek’s situation and the hurt in the other man’s eyes did bother him on some level, but, they needed him and Derek needed them, whether he liked it or not. He just had to have his eyes opened so he could see it.

“…Okay.”

“Good choice, man.” Derek’s taught back didn’t move an inch as Stiles clapped his hand against it and handed him his contract.

“Why the hell do you do it then?” Derek’s eyes were earnest and their intensity caught him off guard.

“Me?”

“If you really don’t buy into this Everlasting love thing.”

“Jesus, man. I’m the horse this shit comes from.” He thought he saw Derek smile a little at that, a little curl at the corner of his lips which made Stiles want the sun to come up just to see it, but, not until they had their footage. “I got into TV because I wanted a bigger platform to improve the world from, you know? Break down social norms and make people actually think a little.”

Derek full out grinned at that. “And you think this show does that?”

“A black prince charming last season. A bisexual winner the year before, yeah I do. And you know that we make sure the mean-girls always get what they deserve in the end. I think we’re doing okay so far.”

Derek seemed to actually consider it for a minute, clearly he wasn’t a regular viewer. “If you say so.”

“I do.” Stiles reattached his earpiece and gestured one slender finger at the paper in Derek’s hands. “You might wanna sign that before you go back out there, so I can send our back-up guy home. That way you’ve got some leverage and Lydia can’t push you about too much. We’re on again in five.”

And with that, he disappeared back out the door, thanking his lucky stars that he was as good at producing people as he was. Derek was stunning to look at and even seemed to have some genuine emotions in there, maybe the whole hookers and crack thing had been a set-up. Who knew? But, he was gonna make a fantastic suitor and right then, in that sleep-deprived moment, that was all Stiles could bring himself to care about.

 

“Ooh” Lydia clapped her hands together with vigour. “Now, that’s a suitor. Nice one Stiles, Derek Hale super-sulker is dead in the water but this, this I can work with.”

The control room didn’t interrupt their glorious leader as she gloated over her little digitalised kingdom. Derek was on form, smiling and flirting like he was born for it. Stiles was more than a little impressed by the transformation. A small, egotistical part of him wanted to believe he’d done that, but, he knew better.

Derek was a Hale, the prince of California, at least as far as social media was concerned. There was no way Derek had grown up in a family which owned as much land and property as the Hales without learning a thing or two about being charismatic.

None of that mattered though, he was their meat-puppet and he was performing like a star. Happy suitor meant happy viewers meant happy network owners. All of that was gonna put Stiles and Lydia in their good graces and earn them fat bonuses come Christmas.

In the meantime, it was kind of fun watching Derek work the camera the way he did. Stiles was able to kick back with what was now his third mediocre latte, he was gonna kill the PA once he’d slept enough to rage properly, and take notes on how Derek was getting on with the girls.

He seemed thoroughly enchanted by Anabelle, if not a little…well, big brother-ish rather than gallant hero, but, they could chat about that. To her credit, little Elsa batted her eyelashes and giggled her infantile voice hoarse in her attempts to keep Derek’s attention.

Lindsey went for a far more direct approach, thank god, full-on nails-into-ass handshake. Demon temptress indeed. It wasn’t clear how tempted Derek actually was, but, he kept her at arm’s length, which kept his charming persona intact in front of the other girls. Either he knew he could bone her behind closed doors and was smart enough to save face, or he was being genuine. Lydia thought to former, as per.

The other girls were largely unremarkable, all too shy or too nice to make much of a splash. Marie was classier than she was sassy, which while refreshing, was going to bore ignorant viewers waiting for some feisty drama queen. That’d have to change, he’d talk to Isaac. Disappointingly, Lydia was pretty hung up on Rebecca, the bikini model. She wasn’t going to win (“Sluts get cut, guys. Keep our Wifey’s off their knees at all costs.”) But she was finalist material and her eventual downfall would be the highlight of the season, the triumph of virtue over hedonism. True, pure, innocent love. Plus, sex footage of Derek and a well-known model would shove a rocket up their rating’s ass.

Mary disappointed by handing Derek her kids’ favourite stuffed bear as a greeting gift, barf. Milf, my ass. Derek played it as endearing, which was the best they could have hoped for and she was quickly forgotten.

They still had forty-five minutes before sunrise when the final cut was called and the contestants were stripped of their microphones and make-up to be sent to bed.

“Rest well, my pretties. Producers and editors you’ve got four hours ‘til we’re back in here putting this crap together to look like something we can sell. Stiles, go have a chat with Derek, see how he got on with our girls. We need to know who’s on the kill list ASAP so we can push and pull him where we want.”

Lydia’s personal slave groaned as he saw even more of his precious sleep time slipping away.

“Now?”

“Now. Night, honey.”

So, while her majesty took her pretty little head off to bed, Stiles closed up his notepads and headed back down to Derek’s room for the second time that night, his legs feeling even heavier than before. He was almost grateful most of the material from his tattered sneakers had fallen away, every gram seemed to matter at this point.

No need to knock this time, tactful wasn’t on the table any more. Derek had signed and Stiles just wanted his opinions on the girls, quickly and simply.

Derek was splayed out on the mattress, starfish-style. His shirt, tie, shoes and jacket were all discarded in a trail from the doorway to the bed.

“Nice acting, big boy.” Stiles shut the door softly behind him and got himself a whiskey on the rocks from the mini-bar, nearly spilling it onto the carpet as he saw Derek’s abs flex as he sat up to face him.

“That was hell.” If looks could have killed, Stiles would’ve been a dead man standing. “I feel like a performing monkey.”

The older man actually looked aggrieved at his situation, which only made Stiles find it even more amusing.

“Oh, it must be terrible.” He drawled, bimbo accent out in force. “Getting to meet all those hotties, deciding which ones you’re gonna bang first and which treats you’re gonna save ‘til last.”

Derek stood, he was actually quite imposing at full height and Stiles worried for a moment that he’d pushed too hard. His opponent’s chest visibly heaved with his annoyance.

“I don’t like lying to people. Pretending that I’m interested in them when I’m not. It’s cruel.”

Stiles gawked at him for a second before he found his tongue. “What? None of them? They’re gorgeous.”

“But it’s fake. It’s all fake.”

“Yes.” Now it was Stiles’ turn to be mad. “Obviously. We talked about this. Fake it and have fun and in twelve weeks you’re back in your family’s good graces and twelve weeks of booty and cash better off.”

Stiles drained his glass and put it back down heavily on the bar.

“Quit being a spoilt brat and learn to play by someone else’s rules for once and you’ll get what you want.” Derek stood dumbfounded at his outburst as Stiles yanked open the door and stepped out into the hallway. “And tomorrow, only cut the boring girls. Wifeys, sluts and bitches need to stay if we’re gonna make a season that works.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Ladies and gentlemen, this week we’ll be attending the famous Everlasting get-to-know-me ball. The girls will have one day with a professional dance tutor before they each get their chance to display their elegance and grace in front of Derek and in front of you. Let’s begin.” Scott spread his arms wide and the camera zoomed out to reveal the large platform constructed on the perfectly trimmed lawn, hung with baby blue drapes and sparkly decorations like a scene right out of Dancing with the stars.

“Cut. Right, get the girls up there let’s show them each other’s training videos, focus on reactions. I want them tearing each other apart, then we’ll get Derek in. You get cash bonuses for cat-fights, boobs falling out, any injury that we can call an ambulance for. Get me some drama people.”

Lydia’s booming voice over the headsets cut out as the crew scrambled to rearrange the flood lights, which were set up to give the impression of daylight and replace them with the twinkly mounted globes of an elegant evening ball.

“You know how this is gonna work, right?” Stiles virtually inhaled the dregs of his coffee as he looked Derek up and down. The guy looked pretty sharp in his tailor-made dress suit and tails. If they’d stuck a top hat on him, Stiles could’ve claimed he’d reincarnated Mr Darcy and brought his period drama ass to Hollywood. That would’ve been a bit much though, maybe for a special edition episode.

“The girls rotate, dancing with me and the extras and side-lining so you can pump them full of booze and get inside their heads between shots.”

Derek’s voice and condescending grin was probably meant to be scathing or self-righteous, but, Stiles thought it just sounded irked.

“Is right.” He grinned back, hoping he looked at least as obnoxious as Derek did. “So smile, don’t get wasted and have fun.”

Derek took his place centre stage as the producers each took a corner of the dancefloor and sent their girls forward in turn, preening and giggling like hyperactive schoolchildren, passing their manic energy onto their charges any way they knew how.

Lydia’s voice in his ear droned into the background of his thoughts as he passed around glasses of champagne and watched Derek glide across the dancefloor with ease. He was a surprisingly smooth mover, no doubt Lydia had checked that he could dance before she’d taken him on.

Three extra male dancers dressed up in less expensive penguin suits circled the main couple to add some bulk to the scene, just enough of them to fill the shot to look like a full outdoor ballroom. Everyone seemed to be playing up and down to expectation. Rebecca swung her sexy hips in a way which was positively feline, Mary’s extra years of practise seemed to give her a technical edge, which was nice enough to watch even if she wasn’t the fastest mover. Lindsey came on way too strong again, almost dragging the terrified Derek along in her sequined wake. And of course, Cara stood in her size ten heels at over six foot, goofily smiling down at him as she lumbered and lurched through the moves.

Derek looked physically pained for her, a look of such earnest discomfort that it could only be born of genuine empathy. It was intriguing, not something you see every day in the beautiful, bastardised world of reality TV. When Lydia’s harsh cackle rang out through his earpiece as Cara kicked Marie in the ankle and sent her sprawling onto the floor, he had to fight the urge to yank the damn thing out and chuck it into the punch bowl.

Such urges were quickly forgotten as a furious Marie scrambled to her feet, ignoring Derek’s outstretched hand, and shoved the mortified Cara in the ribs.

“Bitch. What the hell was that? Huh?” Marie was transformed into the queen of sass in all her royal glory, clearly Erica had had a little chat with her. Stiles actually found himself cringing for the poor stereotyped girl, he’d read in her file that she’d deferred going to law school for a year so that she could do the show and make a good, morally reputable name for herself first. How the mighty do fall, poor thing.

Derek caught his eye as he tried to manoeuvre himself between the two squabbling harpies that had just materialised before him. Both girls retreated to their corners behind painted smiles as their claws retracted and their attention returned to their suitor.

Marie hobbled off indignantly under Cara’s thoroughly dejected gaze, which was gold.

“Yes. Camera A close up on Cara and B on Marie’s limp. Camera C get me Derek watching her walk off then on to our little Elsa. Let’s get our princess in there to contrast with Cara.”

Isaac repositioned Anabelle’s tight plat on her shoulder one last time before guiding her forwards to rotate Cara out to a nervous looking extra. The little princess looked more like Bambi on ice as she skittered on her tall heels.

“No. Isaac, what the hell? You told me she could dance. What is this shit? Is this our princess or a fucking donkey?”

Derek was visibly trying to slow his movements and guide Anabelle through the sequence, but, Isaac’s increasingly manic gestures kept her attention too divided for her to gain anything from either.

“Jesus Christ, is she having a meltdown? No! Do not break my Wifey on the first proper date…Stiles!”

That was all the excuse he needed. Isaac was going to hate his guts but this was getting ridiculous.

“Cut. Nobody move a damn muscle.” Stiles stomped across the glitter covered floor, right up to their so=called stars.

“What is this? No, Isaac back off. Go see if Marie’s ankle’s okay, call an ambulance, let’s have some sirens on the side tonight. Yes, even if she’s fine, tell them it’s definitely broken. Anabelle, it’s a very simple five step sequence, you just need to focus, like it’s just you and your prince at Cinderella’s ball. Now watch.”

Stiles stepped his scuffed sneakers and faded jeans into the beautiful Anabelle’s position and put the alarmed Derek’s hand on his waist, catching the other and one shoulder in his own. If it wasn’t for Lydia’s continued ranting in his ear he would’ve revelled in the other man’s surprise before starting the sequence.

“Side, forward, together, turn, back. Side, forward, together, turn, back. You see? It’s not difficult. Show me.”

Anabelle nodded her head furiously as she stepped back in and began to follow where Stiles had stepped before.

“Much better, don’t stop, keep the rhythm going. Clear the set, shooting in three, two, one. Action!”

This time Anabelle managed a full twelve steps before she tripped again, putting one spiked heel into the top of Derek’s foot.

“That’s fine. Isaac, get them to spin on the spot so we have some moving headshots which actually have a smile on them, then we’re done. Stiles, get in here.”

Stiles abandoned the nauseating scene he’d just created and marched obediently back to the control room, where he was greeted by a beaming Lydia and a hoard of smirking crew members.

“What was that, Stilinski?” the queen perched, arms folded, against the closest desk.

“You wanted a princess, I gave you one…what?”

“I’m talking about our prince charming giving you the eye. Guy showed more genuine fluster when you stepped into his space than any of these air heads. Closet case maybe? Who cares? Actually might’ve gotten us some decent head shots of the sulky douche though, nice work.”

Stiles followed her gesture to the plasma screens to confront the image of himself and Derek gracefully guiding each other through the ballroom sequence. Stiles saw his own sharp gaze cutting into Anabelle’s softer one as Derek looked on, enamoured and concerned in equal doses.

“That is a good headshot. We should use that.” The room began to chuckle among themselves, making his over-tired brain jolt his tongue into overdrive. “You know, he’s definitely looking at Anabelle. I was being too heavy handed with her and he’s getting the whole oh-no-my-darling syndrome. We should air it, nasty producer vs bullied little sweetheart card might gain her sympathy and make her more believable.”

“Whatever, Stilinksi, but, I’ve seen a lot of bullshit on this show and so have you. We’re good enough to know real puppy eyes when we see them. Whatever you did to get them, I want those eyes gauged out and served up for our viewers on a silver platter so keep on at him.”

“Got it.”

Stiles fled the control room with the burn of confusion and embarrassment rising up his neck and onto his cheeks. 

He didn’t look up at the dance floor, didn’t look at Derek, didn’t see him turn from his current dance partner, concern still etched on his face as he watched Stiles’ slim form vanish into the producers caravan for the night and close the blinds.

 

Stiles woke to the persistent sound of knocking against his door. Bleary eyed and hardly conscious, he yanked his phone from his jeans pocket and sat himself upright, frowning at the sneakers and walkie belt he’d left on when he’d plummeted into sleep.

A sleep which apparently he had been dragged from less than two measly hours in, according to his phone. He vowed that if anyone other than Lydia was disturbing him this late he was gonna have them fired.

He stomped the three steps from his bunk to the door and swung it open with extra aggression to reveal his tormentor.

Derek stood in his sweat pants and baggy T shirt, hands returned to his pockets. He looked sheepish, but, that would make sense given that he was out of his room after hours.

“Whatever you want, go back to your room and call one of the PAs to come sort it for you. I’m not your bitch and I will make your life here even more hellish if you don’t let me sleep.”

The flimsy door was blocked by Derek’s trainer before it could swing shut. Without invitation or comment, Derek stepped into the caravan and only then allowed the door to close behind him.

“I wanted to talk to you.” Despite the chilly night air, Derek’s cheeks looked flushed in the pale moonlight. “I overheard some of the camera guys talking about some look I gave you today-?”

Stiles laughed a little too noisily for his own ears. “It’s fine. I was being too heavy handed with Anabelle and you got protective, it’s normal, you’re a good guy. And it makes for romantic close ups so that’s good too,”

He was already reopening the door to show his unwanted guest out, but Derek’s feet and eyes seemed rooted to the floor.

“Yeah.” He murmured. “She’s a sweet girl and you were a little harsh on her.”

“Well, you should know better than most that being the favourite isn’t easy. But, it’s a hell of a lot nicer than the alternative, especially when Lydia’s involved, she loves a fall from grace. So…”

An uncomfortable silence began to descend and Derek took that as his cue to let Stiles go back to sleep.

“Thanks for helping her. You’re a good guy too, Stiles. Even when you’re pretending you’re not.”

Even with adequate sleep, Stiles never would’ve processed that statement before Derek had vanished back across the courtyard and into the manor, leaving him standing alone in the open doorway in the middle of the night.


	3. Chapter 3

“Ladies and gentlemen. Over the past few weeks the girls have had a chance to show off their ladylike qualities. This week, they’re going to show us how well they’re matched to our suitor. As you can see behind me, we’ve set up dunking tanks for each of our contestants. They’ll be asked a series of questions and each time, the girl with the least similar answer to Derek’s will be dropped into their tank until only one remains. That lucky lady will get to design their own date with Derek. Let the games begin!”

One by one, the girls shed their robes to reveal bright bikini’s and took their seats over the tank of the matching garish colour. Once they were all in place and a close up of each worried face had been taken, Scott lifted his cue cards and began the questions.

“On a scale of one to ten, how important is family in your life?”

The girls each pressed the number on their keypad which they thought would be closest to Derek’s own answer and after a tense moment, a harsh claxon rang out and all flinched. That was until they saw Lindsey’s seat collapse beneath her and dump her into the water, make-up running and hair ruined.

Marie even had the gall to laugh at her rival’s misfortune, not that it lasted. She got dunked next. Then Cara, then Rebecca.

“How confident do you rate yourself?”

“How many times per day do you have mean thoughts?”

The questions kept coming, picking them off one by one until only Anabelle and Mary remained, the fallen girls seething up at them from the water like vanquished sirens.

 

“Ha!” Lydia clapped her hands in front of her face as she laughed. “Brilliant, I love it. Whose idea was this?”

Stiles leaned back in his chair at Lydia’s side, watching the numbers pop up on the screen. “Remind me again why we didn’t just dunk the girls we wanted? Like, why do their answers actually matter?”

Isaac swivelled in his own chair to face him, frowning “Authenticity. Let’s give them an actual surprise. It’s fresh and fun.”

“It’s risky.” He corrected. “Do we even know what date their going to ask for? What if they ask for an overnight? It’s too early in the season.”

Lydia dropped heavily into her own chair between them. “Time will tell, I did say Isaac could run this episode. Show us what you got kiddo. Keep us on budget though. If our little princess starts demanding helicopters and lobster dinners you’re gonna have to source them.”

The trio kicked back in the gloom as Scott asked the final question and Anabelle was dumped into the water. Lydia erupted with laughter as the cameras zoomed in on Mary, her surprise and elation filling the shot as realisation sank in. As the eldest contestant and a divorced mother of two, Mary always looked a little out of her league among the younger contestant.

“Don’t matter.” Stiles had forgotten that Jackson was in the control room that morning, skulking at the back. He didn’t have any real role there, he couldn’t produce or edit or…well anything really. But, it was his money they were making the show with and the guys at the network loved him, so they were stuck.

“What?” Lydia turned from the screens, looking across the crowd of cowering producers and editors towards her only true rival. If looks could have killed, it would have transformed the room into an abattoir.

“He’s never gonna choose grandma when he can have one of those hotties.” Jackson’s smirk was too white and the smugness of it always riled Lydia in a way not even Stiles could have placated. “She’s going home today.”

“She’s only a year older than me, asshole.” The queen folded her arms across her chest defensively. “And there are plenty of guys who’d favour a slightly older woman, who actually has a brain and a personality over a pair of rubber tits and fat lips.”

“Aren’t.”

“You’re such a fucking brat!” Lydia’s eyes were bulging from her head as she fought for self-control, even as Jackson laughed. “I’ve got fifty quid that says Mary will still be here tomorrow.”

“Done! I’ll buy a bottle on you then Lyds when this is over.” Jackson’s obnoxious grin didn’t falter as he made his signature finger guns at her and slipped out through the far door. Isaac and Erica flinched as Lydia spun to tower over them.

“You better make this date fucking spectacular. I know that, yes, eventually Mary will lose out to one of the deep throat queens, but, not today. Go. Do your jobs.”

As his fellow producers scurried from the room, Stiles spun back around the watch the delighted Mary jumping up and down in front of a slightly overwhelmed looking Scott and Derek.

“I can’t believe I’m having a baby with that douche.” Lydia’s voice had reduced to such a vicious hiss through her teeth that Stiles wondered how she could even breathe.

“You’re pregnant?”

“No, but soon, hopefully.” Lydia continued to huff, even as Stiles’ attention was drawn back to the screens.

“Shit.” He muttered. “Lyds did you hear that?”

“What?” The harsh tapping of her heels ceased as her furious pacing came to a halt, her sharp gaze cutting over to where Stiles’ attention laid on the centre screen.

“Shit.” She agreed.

 

Stiles cranked up the air conditioning and cracked open another can of energy drink before taking his seat at Lydia’s side. The control room was virtually empty, the editing of the morning’s footage done and the producers out around the manor interviewing the girls about losing the quiz and adding the final touches to Mary’s chosen date.

“Family day.” Lydia groaned, drawing her lips back into a bloody looking snarl. “Fucking family day?!”

“I know. She misses her kids. It might work out, an Everlasting first.”

“Oh fuck off. Isaac had better have this under control. I am NOT losing this bet.”

Stiles took a large mouthful from his can, savouring the over-sweet flavour as it fizzed inside his mouth, before passing it into Lydia’s talons. “You won’t. I’ll go bend Derek’s ear if need be, he won’t want to see Mary humiliated…What? He’s a good guy.”

Lydia’s face was one of pure incredulity as she eyed him. “I’m not even going to ask where you’ve gained that little insight from. But,” She waved the can in front of her in an arcing gesture towards the screens. “We’ve still got to turn a game of twister and a picnic into something resembling romance.”

Stiles reached across and caught the can back from her, screw her, he needed to energy. “Naked twister?”

“Kids, Stiles.”

“Crap, yeah.”

Together they watched, barely conscious through a cruel combination of sleep deprivation and boredom as Derek span the wheel and called out limbs and colours. Mary’s kids were quite sweet looking, all blonde hair and big smiles. It was actually pretty adorable and it painted Derek in a good light. But, there was no way they could spin this into an episode.

Eventually, Lydia’s boredom turned to frustration. Stiles rested his eyes in the cooling room as she fidgeted beside him, already pre-empting the end result. As the games were put away and the kids took off into the garden and out of shot, Lydia smacked him on the shoulder and brought his befuddled brain back into the room.

“Go. They’ve fucked it, putting the bloody contestants in charge. Go fix it for me.”

Stiles drained the last tooth-rotting drops of his drink and pushed himself up, lowering his shades onto his face as he stepped out into the sun. He headed down to the front of the manor, dragging his sneakers against the gravel as he tried to puzzle out what the hell he was going to do about this picnic Isaac had agreed to.

What did he have to work with? Two kids, an almost middle aged woman, Derek and a picnic…

First, he went to the kitchens and made a few alterations to the picnic hamper. He took out the cutlery and replaced the orange juice with champagne, the fruit with chocolate strawberries as well as a few other alterations, much to the annoyance of the chefs. Next, he went to the wardrobe department and told them to change Derek and Mary into a white shirt and dress, grass stains be damned, they’d have a blanket.

Lastly, he went down to hair and makeup to speak with the woman herself. He found Mary grinning to herself in front of one of the brightly lit mirrors, mascara in hand and looking fuller of life than she had done these past four weeks. Stiles supposed that there was nothing that compared to a mother’s love, not that he’d really know anything about it. He almost felt bad for interfering, but, it gave him the perfect way in.

“Mary.” His face lit up as if he had actually slept a half-decent amount as he stepped into the unforgiving light of the make-up department. Still, he must have looked like death. “Hey. Stiles. I’m one of the producers. How are you getting on?”

Mary sheathed her mascara wand with a flourish. “Yeah, great. It’s so lovely to see my little ones again.”

Stiles nodded, hoping he looked understanding and sympathetic and not just a little delirious before he cut into her. “Why are you here then? What inspired you to come all this way and leave them at home for three months?”

Mary’s hands stilled as she frowned at him, the smile fading from her face. He wanted to babble, to say whatever he needed to, to bring her happiness back. But, he had a job to do and he held strong.

“Erm. Well, to find true love.” She giggled, not all that enthusiastically. “And I’ve found it. Derek is…very special.”

“Yes, he his.” Stiles relaxed and smiled at last, stepping forward and taking her arm to whisper in her ear as he passed her. “Convince him.”

 

By the time he took his seat back in the control room, he felt thoroughly drained. But, his plan was all in place and with any luck Mary was about to give them something they could actually spin into an episode. He ignored Isaac and Erica’s sullen expressions as he scrubbed the heels of his palms over his eyes and settled back beside a recently fed and almost serene Lydia.

“Right people. Let’s get this crap show on the road. Give the kids the ball and get them playing in the background. I want romantic shots of our couple, look for sexy where possible.” She chucked the walkie onto the desk and dropped down next to Stiles “I’m not holding my breath.”

“I am.” He muttered, just loudly enough for her to hear, reassuring her with a sly smile.

Together, they watched as Mary and Derek sipped champagne and fed each other sweet treats by hand, all to the backdrop of angelic children playing in the sun. It was downright nauseating but at least it would make the audience’s hearts melt for them. After a few minutes, Lydia began to become restless, casting him impatient glances out of the corner of her eyes.

After he felt he’d waited as long as he could, he lifted his walkie to his lips. “Lauren, could you make the change to the scene we talked about now please? All cameras keep rolling throughout.”

Lydia’s impatience turned to suspicion as she watched. “What are you up to Stilinksi?”

Before he could answer, the room erupted with squeals and laughter. Stiles turned and sighed his relief as a new image hit the screen. Derek’s chest and Mary’s lacy bra. The lawn’s many sprinklers continued to fire on the couple as the delighted children danced in the spray.

“White tops.” Lydia laughed, it was the first smile she’d cracked all day. “Nice touch. Mary doesn’t look too bad under there, does she? And Derek is practically edible. What a happy mistake.”

They cooed mockingly as Derek tried in vain to shield his date from the onslaught and get her inside.

“Nice work Stilinski. You actually managed to magic up some sexy out of this train wreck. Right, get them dry and let’s get on with the elimination.”

Stiles pushed himself up and snuck out back to the producer’s caravan. He’d done his bit and he could barely put one foot in front of the other at this point. He stripped off his T shirt and jeans and left his earpiece and walkie on the countertop. He laid down on the thin mattress on top of the covers in the dry heat of the room. It felt as though his eyes had barely closed when he was being shaken awake again by an aggressive banging against the caravan door.

“Stiles!” Lydia’s voice was a roar. It touched some primal nerve inside him that forced him to his feet, stumbling to open the door before she blew it in.

The glare from the evening light into the dingy caravan was nothing compared to the look on Lydia’s face.

“What? What is it?”

“Our little douchebag, Derek, has just cut Lindsey.”

“So, you won your bet?”

“And lost my villain!” Lydia’s voice was shrill. “I built a series around that bitch. Go, talk to him and figure out what the hell he’s thinking. Then get your ass back in the control room because you and I have got a long night of rewriting to do now.”

With that, she span on her heels and stomped back across the courtyard towards to control room porta cabin, yelling at the various staff she encountered enroute.

Stiles heaved a long suffering sigh as he pulled his clothes back on and reattached his earpiece and walkie. He had to school himself as he wandered towards Derek’s room, seemingly casually. He wasn’t going to get into a confrontation with their suitor, no matter how much extra work he’d just created for him. It wasn’t Derek’s fault and, unlike Lydia, he knew the value of keeping him cooperative.

He knocked gently before entering. The room was empty but the sound of running water didn’t leave much mystery as to where his target was. He sat himself on the bed and waited for Derek to re-emerge.

That was his first mistake. Watching Derek emerge from the bathroom in nothing but a towel, his wet hair in a scruff, deprived him of all mental function.

“Er. Hey.”

“Hi.” Derek’s smile was gentle and calm. It was oddly soothing. “What are you doing here?”

“I, erm, came to see how you were getting on. We were surprised by your decision to send Lindsey home.”

Derek’s face contorted before he turned away, dropping his towel before picking up a pair of boxers from the dresser. Stiles indulged himself in letting his eyes linger on Derek’s form before it vanished under the dark fabric.

That was his second mistake. Derek was herculean and before Stiles could recover he was staring at defined abs and broad chest again and Derek was eyeing him, a smug grin playing on his lips at Stiles’ slack jawed expression.

“She was horrible, Stiles. She was spiteful and shallow and all she ever did was pick on the other girls and put her hands all over me.”

“How awful. I mean, I have no idea why she’d even-“

“Shut up.” Derek laughed as he pulled on a pair of sweatpants and took a seat next to him, nudging him playfully. “I know I’m just a piece of meat to you, but, that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“You’re not, you know.” Stiles turned his head to look into Derek’s earnest face. “Just a piece of meat. Not to me.”

There was a moment, one of those moments Everlasting had been faking with lighting and slow motion film for twelve seasons. There was nothing to say, the two men just sat together, a million words couldn’t have conveyed the level of feeling in their locked gazes. Eventually, it was Stiles that spoke.

“Sorry about today, whining kids and all. Not my idea.”

Derek seemed a little dazed, confusion playing on his handsome features. “It was good. Fun, really. Kids are great, I grew up surrounded by little cousins. And it was really nice to see Mary so happy.”

“You’re just a big softie really, aren’t you? You really like her?” Stiles knew he needed to sound excited, to tease the details out of him, but, he couldn’t help the melancholy slipping into his voice.

Derek’s eyes fell to his feet as he shrugged. “Not really.”

Stiles waited for him to reveal more, but, after a few moments it became clear that this was all he was getting.

“Well, just don’t cut Anabelle or Rebecca. Lindsey was a nightmare but she was good TV. We need to keep some mystery going here.”

Derek nodded but didn’t look up as Stiles slipped from the room, his long night of work stretching out in front of him.

He was almost back at the control room when an exhausted Isaac almost collided with him, a manila file in his hands.

“Stiles! There you are.”

“Here I am.”

“Lydia said we’d need this.” He shoved the file into Stiles’ hands. It was Anabelle’s applicant details file.

“Why would I need this?”

Isaac’s eyes looked wild with panic. “She said to get your help. Anabelle, she’s not okay. She’s really upset and she keeps being sick. She just won’t stop.”

Stiles huffed and shoved the file back against Isaacs’s narrow chest. “I don’t need this. She’s a puker. Bulimia. I wish we could disallow them on the show but then we wouldn’t have any contestants. Go put some cheesey puffs in her room.”

“What?”

“Seriously, how the hell did you become a producer? They’re a marker food, bright orange. She’ll know to eat them before meals so she knows when to stop making herself sick. It’s not a solution but at least it’ll stop her from killing herself.”

Isaac nodded furiously and scurried away, leaving Stiles to take one last deep breath of the night air before facing the control room and the work that lay ahead.


	4. Chapter 4

“Okay people.” Stiles waved his arms in a gathering gesture, bringing to set to attention. “Last week was drier than a nun’s fanny. Lydia wants sexy, she wants teasing. Wet panties, people. Let’s get it on. Scott, get on your mark. We’re shooting in three, two, one.”

  
“Ladies and gentlemen. This week we’re giving Derek and our contestants some time to relax after the last ten weeks strenuous competition, with an all day spa! Each girl will be allowed to pick an activity to attend with Derek to relax and get to know each other better and, of course, we’ll be there with them every step of the way.”

  
“And that’s a cut.”

  
The expensively whitened smile fell from Scott’s lips as the bell rang out. Stiles watched him run his fingers through his dark locks as he approached with a smirk.  
“I need a vacation, man. I’m getting stressed here.”

  
Stiles laughed belly deep, punching his friend on the shoulder. “Oh yeah. You’re so stressed. Can we get Derek out here and get started, I’m in the control room if you need me.

”  
Stiles nodded politely to the other producers as he exited the manor and headed back to the porta cabins to re-join Lydia and watch the day’s activities unfold. He blinked in the sudden darkness as his eyes adjusted. The room was almost empty, everyone but a select few senior staff out working the scene.

  
He took his seat next to Lydia with a relieved huff. “You really think spa day is gonna bring the sexy?”

  
Lydia pulled her blazon curls out of her face as she shrugged. “Hope so. I mean they’re half naked, getting bendy and covering each other in mud, even Derek should be able to make that work.”

  
And so they watched. Cara actually showed promise, she and Derek were first on screen with a self-applied mud bath. Watching the two of them in their underwear rubbing mud onto each other’s bodies was actually quite aesthetic. Right up until she started a mudslinging competition and suddenly they were right back to locker room territory. She even beat him, for god’s sake.

  
Rebecca strutted out in fully tanned, bikini clad glory. Derek almost looked pleased to see her, which was a first. Lydia had actually looked somewhat satisfied with the scene, dirt embalming, until Rebecca had a massive panic attack and refused to be immersed in the dirt. I mean, that dirt had come all the way from Utah! Why the hell wasn’t claustrophobia in her psych assessment?

  
Their only saving grace was that Anabelle was able to make something sexy out of couple’s yoga. Marie had chosen massage, which was sexy as well, but Anabelle’s ballet training made for some seriously erotic bending. If he was being honest, Stiles thought Derek look a little afraid of her moves.

  
In hindsight, Stiles realised that Derek actually looked pretty damn uncomfortable through most of the activities, mudslinging excluded. It seemed odd, Rebecca and Anabelle looked seriously good and Marie was a pageant queen for a reason too. He supposed it was just Derek sulking about having to perform for the cameras again, that certainly seemed to be Lydia’s opinion. Twice over the course of the day Erica had called them over the walkie saying that she needed help controlling his tantrums, but, Lydia had forbidden Stiles from helping, insisting that their junior producers needed to learn.

  
Lunchtime came and went and still neither of them moved from their seats. It was almost dark when eventually Stiles had to concede and go to the bathroom. He dragged out his few moments of freedom, splashing and scrubbing his face with cool water in the hope that it would get him through the evening.

  
As he was making his way back across the courtyard, the sound of yelling began to drift towards him. The entire control room workforce had been emptied out and were wandering aimlessly around outside the door to the sound of crashing and yelling within.

  
“What happened?!” Stiles felt every terrified eye fall on him, but, still he was at a loss for an explanation. After a brief moment’s silence he pushed through them and into the control room he’d left only minutes before. It looked as though a bomb had been detonated inside. The desks had been cleared onto the floor, three of the screens laid smashed and Lydia stood at the centre of it all, makeup and tears running down her cheeks and blood running up her forearm from a gash in her palm that Stiles wasn’t even sure she was aware of.

  
“What’s up?” His voice seemed meek, alien to him in the face of such chaos.

  
Lydia’s body shook as she leaned back against one of the overturned desks, refusing to face him. “No one ever tells you when it’s over!” She screamed, it was a terrifying noise, the epitome of agony and despair. “No one ever turns up at your work and says, hey, this is it. This is your last chance to have kids, Mrs fucking Whitmore. What d’you say?”  
“You…wait what?”

  
“I’m too old, dammit!” Lydia slammed her bloodied fist down on the desk. “The doctor called back and she said that I’m too damn old. That I’ve missed my chance.”

  
“Did you…really want—“

  
“I wanted a choice!” Lydia’s voice broke as she choked out a hoarse sob. “I wanted a choice!”

  
Stiles rushed forwards as she sunk to the floor, her heels discarded among the debris.

  
“Hey. Hey, come here.” He gathered his old and only true friend in his arms as she shook, her head buried into his neck. “Take a day. Talk to Jackson in the morning and figure out what you want to do. There are plenty of couples who have fertility problems who go on to have perfectly happy family lives.”

  
Lydia didn’t respond, but, after a few moments of gentle rocking her breathing began to level. Stiles went back outside and told the crowd, on pain of firing, to get out of their sight, before he walked Lydia back to her trailer, bandaged her hand and put her to bed, sitting with her until her breathing slowed into the deep, steady rhythm of sleep.  
And so it wasn’t until the sun had dipped well below the horizon and Mary had been eliminated in that night’s ceremony that Stiles was able to return to work and go through his nightly ritual of soothing Derek’s bruised morality and preparing him for the upcoming day.

  
Each night Stiles visited and each night it got that little bit easier and he stayed that little bit longer. He found himself genuinely interested in hearing what Derek had to say about the girls, the show, about anything and everything he wanted to talk about.

  
He stepped into the now familiar room with an ease he couldn’t have imagined when he’d first visited five weeks earlier, when he’d convinced Derek to sign his soul over to them. Derek was sat on the bed in his sweatpants and T-shirt, waiting for him. Stiles almost wanted to believe that the older man’s face actually brightened as their eyes met, but, that was ridiculous.

  
“Hey, Der. Good day?”

  
“Not really. Just another torturous day in paradise.”

  
Stiles rolled his eyes dramatically, fixing himself a drink from the minibar and dropping onto the mattress next to him.

  
“Oh, come on. Anabelle’s got some serious moves, eh?”

  
Derek’s ears looked like they’d caught fire. He was never good at talking about the girls, so Stiles felt he needed to just fill in the blanks and hope Derek would confirm or deny his suspicions. So far, it seemed to be working pretty well.

  
“She’s the public’s favourite to win, you know? According to Twitter polls, that is. You think they’re right?”

 

Still Derek sat, elbows rested on his thighs and eyes fixated on the carpet. “Do we have to talk about the girls?”

  
Stiles huffed, pushing himself up off the bed and turning to look down at the sullen looking Derek, who had at least had the courtesy to lift his gaze to meet his producer’s. “Well it’s kind of my job, dude. I mean, you must like one of them at least a little bit?”

  
He flashed Derek his cheekiest grin, but still the man remained unmoved, giving him nothing but a non-communicative shrug. It was beginning to test Stiles’ patience, usually the suitors were all too keen to brag about which girls they were going to sleep with then cut and which ones they thought they might actually keep hold of. Derek was just plain uncooperative and when piled on top of sleep deprivation and the stress of the network breathing down their necks, it was all getting too much.

  
“Will you just stop being such a fucking entitled, high-and-mighty prick?” Stiles was untouched by Derek’s earnest hurt as he looked up at him from his dejected position on the mattress. “You’re being such a dick. We parade twelve stunning girls in front of you and fucking pay you to take your pick while we sort out your PR nightmare too.” Stiles thought he heard some of Lydia’s harsh cynicism in his laugh, but, he was too angry to care. “And you’re too busy sulking about having to put on a little show for us that you’re not interested in anyone? Give me a fucking break, Derek!”

  
Stiles jumped back more than he would’ve liked to admit as Derek stood, all of a sudden, to glower down at him. “I didn’t say that!”

  
“Then who?” Stiles seemed to have lost all his self-preservation instincts as he squared up to the wall of muscle that was Derek Hale. “Who do you deem good enough to take home to your precious family, Derek? Cause I’d really like to know!”

  
“You!” Derek’s words hit him harder than his fists ever could have, sending him stumbling back against the wall of the sizable room, his drink falling from his hand onto the carpeted floor. For the first time in thirteen seasons, he felt powerless as he watched Derek’s eyes fill with tears, his voice trembling as it escaped his lips in ragged breaths. “I don’t want any of them. I want you, Stiles.”

  
That was new. That was completely new and Stiles hadn’t got the first idea of how to handle it.

  
“That’s—I mean, we can’t. Derek.”

  
Stiles was shaking like a sapling in a hurricane as he fled Derek’s room into the far too heavily populated corridor, his back reflexively stiffening as he felt the eyes of his colleagues falling upon him.

  
“Isaac!” Stiles strode straight past the stuttering boy as he skidded to a halt in front of him. “You’re producing Derek for the next episode, Lydia’s taking a personal day so I’m in charge. Go. Now!”

  
Stiles strode on, his feet landing heavily against the gravel as he stormed back to his trailer. It wasn’t until he was laying, too tired to undress, on his own little bed, alone in the dark that he began to process what Derek had said.

  
What the fuck was he going to do about that? He didn’t know. He had no damn idea. All he could think about was how exhausted he was and how much he needed to step up while Lydia dealt with…whatever. He really wanted to be there for her too.

  
He was almost asleep when he heard the crackle of the walkie on the pillow next to him.

  
“Security call. Bedroom 1. Security call. Bedroom 1.”

  
Bedroom 1? That was Derek.

  
Stiles snatched up the walkie and sprinted across the courtyard, slamming through the doors as he tore towards Derek’s room. He burst in just in time to see a stunned Rebecca climbing off of Derek’s lap, surrounded by four suited security men. All eyes turned to Stiles as he stood, dumbfounded in the doorway.

  
“Take this whore back to her room.” He ordered.

  
Rebecca pulled her bathrobe back on over her underwear, tying the knot with a sharp tug before storming from the room. Stiles closed the door behind the final guard before allowing the tension to fall from his muscles as he turned back to where Derek sat sheepishly, cross-legged on the bed in his sweatpants.

  
“You wanna tell me what happened?” He ventured, his brain still struggling with the day’s input.

  
“She snuck in here somehow, I dunno. She was all over me.”

  
“You pressed your silent alarm button. Not many guys who had a bikini model sneak into their room would call for security.”

  
After a long moment, Derek lifted his gaze to meet Stiles’ unforgiving glare. “I told you. I don’t want any of the girls.”

  
Stiles still had no response to that, whatever game Derek was playing, he didn’t even know the rules yet.

 

“I--erm. I’ll go chat to security and make sure she doesn’t bother you again, then.”

  
Derek nodded, a tiny movement Stiles barely caught as he turned from the room, locking the door behind him.

  
The fuck was he going to do now?


	5. Chapter 5

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back. This week, each of our three remaining girls will select their own menu for a romantic dinner for two. Each will have an evening to share their choice with Derek, after which our last unlucky lady will be sent home, leaving us with our two finalists. I hope you’re feeling hungry, let’s begin.”

Stiles scoffed down his last mouthful of cold toast without chewing and hurled his coffee cup into the courtyard bin. “Afternoon everyone. Lydia’s off this week so I’m acting showrunner until she gets back. I appreciate this is out of character and rest assured that anyone caught speculating on the reason for her absence will be fired on the spot. Any questions?”

Not a single member of the gathered crew dared move, Stiles wasn’t even sure Isaac and Erica were even breathing.

“Good. Right, please make sure we’ve got the menus right and that the dining hall is set up accordingly before 6pm. Tonight is Rebecca, tomorrow we’ve got Anabelle then Marie last. Our bikini bitch needs to get cut this week, Lydia’s instructions, to leave our two wifeys for the big white wedding finale. So, I’m going to be producing Rebecca myself to make sure she goes out with a bang.”

Whatever that was going to be.

Stiles clipped his walkie to his belt and plugged his earpiece in. “Any problems, call me before they fuck things up or I’ll fuck you up. Understood? Good. Let’s get on with it.”

The team dispersed and Stiles made his way down towards Rebecca’s bedroom, a sense of dread settling in his stomach. He heavily suspected that their bikini clad beauty was going to be more than a little sulky that he’d thrown her out of Derek’s room the night before. Perhaps calling her a whore hadn’t been be most tactful move, but, she had gotten him out of bed in the middle of the night.

He paused outside the door for a moment, taking one last calming breath before knocking. The door swung open, Rebecca already turning away to return to her dresser, gracing him with little more than a sour glance over her shoulder.

Stiles, for his part, returned it with his gentlest smile. “Hi. Just here to pick up the dress you wanted to wear to dinner tonight so the wardrobe guys can steam it.”

He stepped inside, sliding the door shut behind him with a quiet click. Rebecca threw her dark hair over her shoulders so she could see to put her second earring in before turning to him.

“I do know, you know.”

Stiles was an experienced producer and her unexpected response barely fazed him. Carefully, he furrowed his brow without letting his smile slip.

“I’m sorry I was a little harsh on you last night. It was unfair. You and Derek have such a strong connection, it’s understandable that-”

The sour-faced princess stomped into her wardrobe to retrieve her dress of choice. “Don’t try to play me.” She hissed. “I know your game.” She slung a strappy piece of black material, which Stiles was surprised would even cover her torso, at him. “I see the way you look at him.”

Stiles froze as her meaning rang in his ears, the first tint of alarm setting in. He didn’t move a muscle even as she advanced on him, her heavily plumped lips drawing back in a vicious snarl.

“But Derek isn’t into you, you pathetic little faggot and your jealousy can’t spoil what we have. So, why don’t you stop being a whinny little fairy and go get on with your job, which is setting up our romantic evening together.”

Still Stiles didn’t move as Rebecca’s thinly plucked eyebrows bobbed in one last snide gesture before she turned her back on him and strutted back to the dresser to complete whatever remained of her extensive beauty regime.

Only once it was clear her little rant was complete did Stiles slip back out of the room, as quietly as he’d entered. His impassive expression held as he took the dress down to the wardrobe department, a new plan forming in his mind. It was horrible even to consider and he already knew that Lydia was going to adore it.

He was half grinning as he passed the dress to one of the wardrobe staff “Burn this by accident and replace it with something white.”

The bemused looking girl didn’t question, nodding obediently as he moved on to his next task. The control room was largely full of editors working on the morning’s film, so much so that he had to move one of them out of the way so he could download the footage he wanted from the concealed camera in Rebecca’s bedroom onto the connected tablet.

Still no one questioned him as he abandoned the monitor, snatching up his keys from the desk and proceeded to make one final visit to the dining room before returning to the control room to watch the first dinner date unfold.

When he stepped back into the dimly lit room, he was confronted with his second and hopefully last surprise of the day. Lydia sat in her usual seat in front of the screens. She wore no makeup, her hair was tied back behind her head in a scruffy pony-tail and she was dressed, for the first time in Stiles’ memory, in a plain T-shirt, jogging bottoms and a pair of comfortable trainers.

“Aren’t you supposed to be taking the rest of the week off?” He mock-chided as he took his seat beside her.

She shrugged, nonchalantly, her pale lips twitching in amusement. “I missed you. Don’t worry, you’re still in charge.”

Stiles reached over his head, stretching back against the leather of his seat until it gave a relieving crack. “Good, good. Cause I’ve got a treat for you. I was going to come and show you tonight but I suppose I don’t mind you watching it live if you like.”

He winked conspiringly across at her, not missing the worried look Isaac and Erica exchanged as they crossed the corner of his vision to take their seats at the desk behind them.

“I know that look.” She hummed. “You’re going to entertain me.”

“Damn right.”

Together they watched as the cameras positioned around the dining room, which had been set up with crimson red drapes and an intimate two person table in the centre. Truly, it looked very idyllic. Stiles was almost jealous. Almost.

He and Lydia didn’t interrupt as Derek and Rebecca came into shot, laughing and conversing with easy charisma as they took their seats and admired their surroundings.

Once they’d been seated for a few minutes and had made the necessary small talk, the chefs began to bring out Rebecca’s chosen meal, seafood platter. Personally, Stiles hated the smell of fish and had cringed for every moment he’d been in the room with the assortment of exotic fillets and crustaceans laid out for the happy couple.

Rebecca, on the other hand, seemed to find the spread delicious, which was a relief. She smacked her lips in a manner which was borderline pornographic and transparently deliberate, not that the viewers would mind.

“Can we get close ups of Rebecca’s lips please?” his voice was compassionless and monotone as he spoke into the walkie, not really caring about the response he received, his eyes fixated on the screen. “Keep rolling. Don’t cut until every item of food is eaten and the plates are cleared away.”

His fellow producer’s eyes burned into his skull as they watched him lean forwards, imperceptibly slowly, with growing anticipation.

Just when he was starting to worry, the long awaited gurgle hummed from the rooms many speakers.

“What was that?” Isaac’s face had scrunched into a deep frown, even as the satisfied smirk began to grow on Stiles’ lips.

“Do not cut. For any reason.” He reminded them, the steel creeping back into his voice.

Patiently he watched as Rebecca’s posture weakened, her hand falling to her enviously flat abdomen. Still she struggled on, talking about some trivial nothing no one cared to hear about as the gurgles grew louder and more insistent.

Eventually, she cracked, scrambling from the table and charging for the toilets as fast as her tight, white dress and spiked heels would allow.

He’d won.

Lydia’s amused chuckled began to build as Rebecca slammed into the locked door, turning to face the crew behind the camera, her eye’s wide with panic and eyeliner.

“Does somebody have to key to this, please?! Now! Please?!”

“Are you okay?” Derek moved to help his increasingly distressed date, halting only at her outstretched palm.

“No! Derek, don’t come any closer! Guys I need the key for this door, please!” Her voice reached a shrill wail as she crumpled onto the floor, eyes streaming, still refusing to allow the baffled Derek to approach.

 The control room fell into appalled silence, with the exception of two shameless voices cackling heartily as the scene climaxed with an unmistakable squelch.

“OHHH!” Lydia jumped from her seat, arms aloft. “Rebecca just shit her pants on national TV!” She spun to face her stunned team, none of whom could even speak yet, eyes trapped by the sight of their ruined contestant as the cameras closed in on her.

“Boom! Drop the mic!” Lydia threw her head back, ecstatic.

Once his own laugher had receded, Stiles lifted the walkie to his mouth once more. “Can we get a hose for Rebecca please?”

“He…needs…a hose.” Lydia’s voice came in harsh rasps as her body shook uncontrollably. Slowly, she fell to her knees at Stiles feet, bowing down before him. “Hats off Stilinski. You are a mad genius.”

Stiles shrugged, mimicking her earlier flippancy. “I try. Erica could you splice that with the footage of my conversation with her this morning for me? I’d like to show it to Derek. I think that ought to justify cutting her, don’t you?”

Erica clicked the mouse furiously for a few moments before disconnecting the tablet attached to her monitor and handing it to him.

Lydia had pulled herself back up into her seat, but still hadn’t fully recovered, as she waved him onwards.

 

 

Derek stared, open-mouthed at the screen clutched in Stiles’ long fingers before he lifted his gaze to meet Stiles’ once more.

“She…I can’t believe you poisoned…are you alright?” Derek’s face was unreadable.

“Better than her.” Stiles flipped the tablet’s cover shut with a sharp click. “Lydia wants her to go home this week as soon as her stomach settles and now you have to perfect excuse for cutting her from the competition. But, you know how it goes around here, right?”

Derek stiffened a little, his back straightening him to his full height. “The mean girls always get what they deserve.” He recited.

“Exactly. We’re selling true love. True, virtuous, innocent love. So, now her wifey potential is ruined, you can cut her from the competition for being a homophobic bitch without looking like a douche, leaving the lovely Anabelle and Marie for the finale.”

Derek’s face didn’t recover enough to give him any meaningful response as Stiles flashed him a smug wink and left him to freshen up before the elimination ceremony.

The elimination went the way Stiles wanted, of course. Everything always did, eventually.

Well, that wasn’t strictly true anymore, was it? Stiles laid his walkie and earpiece on the desk, admiring his day’s work on the plasmas as his thoughts finally turned to the only thing he’d really wanted to think about all day.

Derek.

The first and only thing in thirteen series that wouldn’t go the way he wanted. He might be the best there was, but, even he couldn’t pull the suitor out of the competition.

Two more dinner dates and then he would have just one final episode to produce, where he would be forced to sell Derek off to either the shallow-minded Anabelle, who would spend his family’s hard earned money on her own extravagant tastes and become the inevitable, obnoxious tabloid queen, or the fake-sassy Marie, who would be taking her newly polished Hale surname off to law school as soon as the honeymoon was over, leaving him trapped in an empty marriage and as alone as when he started.

Lydia refused share the identity of her chosen winner, even with Stiles, but, it would be her who chose. One way or the other, Lydia would always get what she wanted.

Stiles pushed the thought from his mind, shutting down his monitor and switching off the plasma screens before calling it a night.


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles woke feeling refreshed for the first time in what had felt to be the longest series of Everlasting so far. Lydia had put Erica and Isaac jointly in charge of the next two dinners, no need for any major drama to be generated after Stiles’ little trick on Rebecca’s date. This allowed Stiles to get himself back into fighting shape ready for the big finale, which Lydia had spent the two days perfecting.

He munched on toast which was actually still hot out in the courtyard as he flipped though the plans for the final episode, which had been dropped off by the PA the night before. Lydia was going to be in the control room while Stiles worked the floor supervising Erica and Isaac. This was going to be his episode, allegedly, helping him prove that he had what it took to produce a finale the way Lydia wanted.

An image of the day began to form in his mind as he studied her sketches and diagrams. Once he was happy he’d memorised what she wanted he chucked the file onto his desk in the control room and set to work.

He found Marie and Anabelle outside in the garden, choosing engagement rings with Erica. He smiled weakly at their giddy excitement as they admired the arrangement of shiny stones they’d been presented with. It wasn’t a novelty that Stiles had ever really understood.

Careful to remain out of Marie’s line of sight, he edged around the garden towards Anabelle, who was slipping various rings on and off her finger experimentally.

“Anabelle! Hi. How are you getting on?” Stiles didn’t even wait for her to finish prattling about how excited she was before moving the conversation on. “It’s great to see you doing so well. I just wanted to have a quick word. I shouldn’t really be telling you this, but, hell you’ve worked so hard I think you deserve to know.”

He winked at her conspiringly, her attention now fully captivated. “It’s you. Derek is going to pick you in the finale.”

He smiled widely as his words registered on Anabelle’s beautiful face. “And there’s more. He doesn’t just want to propose to you. He wants to marry you, live, on national TV. I know! So we’re going to need you to get your family all here for the ceremony as soon as possible. Great, thanks. Remember.” He pressed one finger to his lips. “Our secret.”

Anabelle nodded furiously at him as he turned away, leaving her to get back to picking her ring. He shook his head at the simplicity of it all as he made his way back across the lawn to go and speak to Marie.

Once both god-awful conversations were over, he went to check up on preparations for the big day. The dresses had arrived, the chairs were all set up, as were the alter and decorations. The rooms for the extra guests were all being set up with fresh laundry and toiletries. Everything was starting to come together.

He was just about to head down to the kitchens and ensure everything was on track for the catering aspect of the day when a flustered looking Erica skidded up to him.

“Hey. Erm, I just wanted to ask. I don’t get it. You told both girls they’d won and that they’re going to get married.”

Stiles sighed. “Of course. Look last season we had a wedding. Big white dress, three tiered cake. Blah, blah. So this season we have to one-up ourselves and what’s better than one bride?”

“Two.” A sly smirk spread across Erica’s pink lips as she began to understand.

“Exactly. Just make sure the girls don’t go anywhere near each other and that they get as many of their friends and family here as possible.”

Stiles left Erica to get on with whatever it was she was actually meant to be doing as he went to check on the kitchen staff. The idea might nauseate him but that cake needed to be perfect, it was going to draw in viewers like flies to honey.

Satisfied, he returned to the relative coolness of the control room. Lydia was looking radiant once more, make-up adorned, clothes smartly kept and hair tied up in an elaborate bun.

“Hey Stilinski.” She nudged his shoulder as he practically bounced into his seat beside her. “Looking less like a zombie today I’m pleased to see. You ready for tonight?”

“Born ready.” He nudged her back. “You really gonna just leave me to it?”

“So long as you behave.” Lydia’s pouted lip gloss glimmered at him in the artificial light.

“Pinky promise.” He reached one finger across and linked it with hers.

 

 

Stiles took his position besides Boyd, their lead camera man, as he surveyed his little creation. The guests were seated, both families, the priest was at the altar, dog collar and all. God only knows how much they were paying for that. He couldn’t hear his babbling, but, he could see Scott’s face twisting in his ritualistic vocal warm ups. Even Derek looked to be in a good mood, chatting with Isaac behind the curtain on the opposite side of the glamorously decorated hall.

Stiles let his eyes lay on Derek for a little while, indulging himself while he still could. It figured that he’d be smiling today, on the final day of his contract. Lydia was still refusing to say which of the girls Derek was going to get married to, not that either option was all that great.

Stiles felt awful for him, genuinely, legitimately awful. He’d done some brutal things in the name of making good TV, unmasking the nasty players of this game for what they are and knocking them off their self-appointed little pedestals.

But Derek, Derek wasn’t one of them. He wasn’t some dick-head playboy who was going to get as much out of this façade as his wife, whoever she was going to be. Derek was the most sincere person Stiles had ever seen on reality TV, in life even.

And Stiles was leading him up that aisle like a lamb to slaughter. Everlasting was his abattoir and Stiles was holding the cleaver.

He sniffled and wiped his eye with his sleeve, tearing his eyes away. Lydia’s voice rang through his ear, vicious as ever.

“Stilinski, everything’s in place. Get on with it.”

Stiles took one last look around to check everyone was one their mark before he called out. “Okay, everyone. We’re shooting in three, two, one. Action,”

The cameras began to roll and the smiles went on.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back. Today, in our grand finale, it is traditional for us to share with our happy couple the experience of that magical moment when our suitor finally proposes. However, this season, at Derek’s special request, we will not be having a proposal. We will be having a wedding!”

The guests clapped heartily. Derek’s eyes widened momentarily, but, his handsome smile never slipped an inch.

The claps vanished as the wedding march began. The cameras turned to the far end of the aisle as a thin, white curtain descended to divide the room in two, obscuring the far side of the hall from Stiles’ view.

Derek frowned momentarily. The guests looked confused, but, no one moved. Stiles couldn’t see everything, but, if everything was going to plan then Anabelle was marching alongside Marie on the other side of the thin curtain.

If Derek’s face was anything to go by, she was. His eyes darted from side to side like a cornered puppy. The look on his face wrenched Stiles’ guts up into his throat, so far that he was worried that he might spit them onto the carpet.

As Marie reached the foot of the altar, Anabelle stepped into view beside her, matching dress, matching bouquet, the works. The two brides turned to each other, the reason for Derek’s strained expression now clear.

“No way!”

“What the hell?! What are you doing here?!”

“What am I doing here?! What are you doing here?!”

The curtain raised, each half of the audience now recognising the other as the family of the opposing bride.

“And cut to commercial.” Stiles sighed as the bell rang out. The brides chattered and seethed as Derek fumbled for an explanation, turning to the grinning Scott for back-up he clearly wasn’t going to receive.

“Lydia! You didn’t tell him!” Stiles hissed into the walkie.

“Relax, Stilinski. I prepped him, thoroughly. He knows what to do. Just keep things rolling forwards.”

Stiles shook his head, the guilt cranking up another notch to bone crushing intensity. Somehow he forced air into his lungs to shout out. “Okay, and we’re back on in three, two.”

The girls shut up. Derek straightened. The smiles reappeared.

“One. Action.”

“So, Derek. This is quite a surprise. I can’t imagine how you must be feeling. What are you going to do?”

The girls were leaned so far forwards that Stiles was a little worried they were going to fall over.

“Ladies.” Derek’s voice seemed full of an unusual calmness, all things considered. “We’ve been on quite a journey. It’s such an abstract experience, being on Everlasting, meeting new people and falling for them. Please believe that this,” He gestured between the two brides, “Is as much of a surprise to me as it is to you.”

The cornered groom’s shouldered bounced as he blew out a long breath. “However, I’m afraid that I’ve got one more surprise for you. This has been an amazing experience, I’ve loved getting to know you both and I feel like we’ve made some incredible…friendships.”

The girls virtually flinched at the word, turning to each other questioningly.

“But, I’m afraid that my heart belongs to another.”

Stiles’ guilt turned to panic in a heartbeat. What the hell was Derek doing to him? He wasn’t going to marry either girl? Ruin his episode? His big chance to prove himself as an executive producer?

“That’s our cue. Cameras B and C get bride’s reactions. All other cameras and lights turn to mark 17.” Lydia’s voice was outright gleeful. What the hell was she thinking? There was no mark 17.

Stiles’ dread turned to mortification as he squinted in the glare as it descended on him. When his vision returned it was to see the shiny black eye of Boyd’s camera glaring back at him.

He froze. For the first time in thirteen seasons he had no idea what was happening. He’d completely lost control.

His brain was screaming at him to breathe, to move, to do something, anything to get this under control. Nothing happened.

He stared dumbly into the camera until Derek was almost upon him. Every eye in room, in America, it felt, was on them. Stiles’ could only gape like the fool he felt as Derek sank to one knee in front of him.

“Stiles. These twelve weeks working with you have really opened my eyes to a lot of things about who I am and what I want out of my life. I don’t want to get married to anyone so soon and definitely not on reality TV.”

Stiles wanted to run, to move, anything, but, he was powerless to do anything but take in every word that Derek said, as though it was just a fever dream he was too scared to wake from.

“You are the only thing, the only thing that’s made this intense, absurd experience manageable. Please, Stiles. Let’s get out of here, together.”

Stiles felt his mouth move, dry and uncooperative, but, no sound came forth. Derek still didn’t look concerned. His earnest smile was unwavering even as the cameras turned away from them and back to the altar where a triumphant Lydia stood in Derek’s place.

“Ladies and gentlemen.” She announced, beaming down at them all like an avenging angel. “This is a first here on Everlasting. I’m very sorry ladies, but, we nurture true love here.” She raised one hand towards Derek and Stiles. “And true love is unpredictable. Good people of America, I give you Sterek.”

Lydia’s manicured hands came together as she began to applaud. Soon the entire set was ablaze with whoops and cheers, the sound of their joy welling up around Stiles’ overwhelmed brain until they were muffled by Derek’s arms closing around him.

His touch seemed to kick start Stiles’ body, compelling him to snuggle into Derek’s embrace, to seek safety in his arms. The sensation of his strong hand rubbing against his spine reassuringly made the whole world fall away. He was only dully aware of the noise of the bell as the scene was cut and their grand finale was over.

The air felt cold as Derek’s arm withdrew, exposing him once more as Lydia practically danced across the hall towards them.

“Just couldn’t resist interfering, could you?” He winked at her, snuggling into Derek’s underarm and he felt his new boyfriend pull him in close beside him.

Lydia shrugged, coming to a stop in front of her creation. “I liked this ending better. Plus,” She shot Derek a knowing look. “Derek offered us a deal we couldn’t refuse.”

Her smile broadened impossibly further at Stiles’ confused frown.

“A one off episode. Sterek: The First Date. Yours to fully produce, by yourself. It’ll be the programme of the year! Everyone from here to London to Beijing will know your names. And in exchange the network are going to give you your own show to run. Sterek The World Tour, exposing social injustices worldwide. Everything you ever dreamed of.”

“I-Oh my god! Lyds, that’s incredible. Thank you so much!”

He reluctantly broke away from Derek’s hold to wrap his own slender arms around Lydia’s shoulders.

“I love you, Stilinski” She whispered. “You’re fired, you hear me? Take that boy a go fix the world, one episode at a time.”

Eventually, the need for air forced them to part, just enough to face each other.

“And don’t forget to come back to me when I cash in on the little diamond you just made for me and I’m running this damn network.” She blew him one last kiss before letting him go and turning to walk away. “Now, get out of here lovebirds.”

Once she was out of sight, Stiles turned back to face the beaming Derek. “You did that for me?”

“For us.” He corrected. “But, yeah. Let’s go travel the world together and see what we have here.”

Derek reached out and pulled Stiles against his broad chest. “Everlasting’s first actual love story.?”

Stiles huffed into the warmth of Derek’s body.

“Yeah.” He whispered. “I guess we are.”

 


End file.
